The End
by Kaytee
Summary: They way I believe the fairy tale should end, if it absolutely has to end at all.


The End

The End

by Kaytee

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

Author's Note: This is set after graduation, and has nothing to do with the what's going on in the series past "A Winter's Tale" which means there was no lie and no ensuing stupidity.

Author's Note II: The Dedication: This is for Bijal. But the rest of you can read it, too.

Rating: PG

Distribution: Ask me first.

Twilight had settled over Capeside, painting the sky in vivid shades of pink and gold and purple that blended gently with the blue. As she sat on the edge of the dock with her bare legs dangling above the flowing creek, she tried to quiet her thoughts and listened to the world around her. To the sound of one cricket and then another beginning their evening song, to the mother in the distance calling her child in for dinner. Laughter spilling from the opened windows of the Bed & Breakfast carried on the soft, warm breeze blowing in off the ocean. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like laughing, though it couldn't have been more than a week or so ago at the most. How far she'd fallen, how fast.

I can't go with you, he'd said. We're heading in opposite directions, he'd said.

And she'd wanted to argue the point, she'd wanted to beg and scream and make him understand that he could never be the hindrance he imagined he'd be. She'd was ready to fight for him and their relationship with everything she had and then she'd seen his eyes and how resolved he really was. How decisive he'd been, how final.

Could that only have been a week ago, just seven days?

Joey Potter lifted her face to the wind and closed her eyes against the beauty of the New England evening. Spectacular sunsets are supposed to be shared, she thought. And I have no one to share this with.

This was supposed to be the beginning of an amazing summer. Of endless conversations with old friends about nothing in particular while trying not to think about how much she was going to miss them when she left for college in the fall. This was supposed to be the beginning of long, lazy days that offered her no decision tougher than which SPF to use. Or perhaps which direction to steer the old pick-up truck during the road trip they'd planned on taking; north or south, it wouldn't matter so long as they had a full tank of gas, a little money, and each other. 

It would have been an amazing trip, another summer spent exploring the world with him. Another three months stolen together, the only difference being the scenery. Open road instead of the open water, neither would have cared. Since she still had trouble from time to time with the truck's standard transmission, he'd said, "You can read while I drive." She remembered how she'd warned him against bursting into song, and how his blue eyes had smiled before he'd kissed her. Distantly, she thought it sad that she might never know the ending of the story they'd been reading to each other. 

There was no use thinking about it now, though. No use thinking about a trip she'd never take with a man she no longer had. It would only depress her further, and she didn't particularly want to find out to what depths she could sink. She was already feeling so awful that she'd had to leave the dinner table, or else she would have brutally kicked the newlyweds playing footsie throughout the entire meal. Her escape had been clumsily made and she'd barely been able to hold in the tears that threatened, and she knew she should apologize to the guests. She should be helping Bessie, by taking care of Alex or cleaning up the table.

She figured that Bessie was getting sick and tired of her moping around, glaring at the guests and shirking her chores. Her sister had been very understanding lately, but Joey knew that she didn't have much more time available to her for wallowing in her own despair. The clock was running out on how long Bessie would tolerate it, and she figured that's who was walking up behind her. Her sister, fed up with her sullen attitude and determined to put an end to it.

Joey decided she'd get right to the point. Without turning toward the approaching footsteps, she stared out over the creek and sighed. "I know I haven't been easy to live with lately, and I'm sorry, I really am. And I'm sorry I haven't been helping out like I should.

"And I'll be better, I will," she continued, pausing for a moment to clear her throat. "I just . . . I just need to catch my breath, you know?"

"I know."

Embarrassment spread through her like wildfire at the sound of his voice. Why couldn't it have been Bessie? Why couldn't it have been just about anyone else?

She didn't speak as he sat down beside her on the dock, didn't look at him even though she knew that he was looking at her. He smelled so good, so achingly familiar that she wanted to breathe him in and just fucking feel better. She wished he wasn't sitting so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Just to be contrary, her body wished he'd sat even closer.

They sat there for what seemed like forever, and she wondered what he was doing there but didn't have the courage to voice the question for fear of crying. She felt as though the dam would break if only she opened her mouth to speak. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned her head down. As the evening deepened, she watched the fireflies light up as they flitted carelessly through the air.

As it turned out, he was the first to speak. She almost didn't hear him, his voice was so quiet. No, not quiet. Rough, like it hurt to get the words out. She knew exactly how that felt.

"I miss you."

Anger flared inside her and the laugh that escaped her was bitter and tinged with sarcasm. "Gee, I'm sorry I haven't been around lately, Pacey. Wonder what could have kept me away."

As soon as she glanced at him, she wished she hadn't. Her eyes drank in the sight of him as though she'd been thirsting for him forever, but looking at him offered nothing in the way of relief. He'd had his hair buzzed off again and her fingers itched to run her fingers through the fuzz that remained, knowing from memory how soft it would feel to the touch. The shirt he wore was ugly, the Hawaiian print absolutely hideous, but it was so Pacey that it nearly choked her. Why didn't he look as horrible as she felt? Why weren't his eyes red and puffy, why wasn't his face blotchy from crying so often, like her eyes and her skin were? 

He couldn't seem to form a response, though he tried several times. Sighing in frustration, he scratched the back of his head and she looked away, back toward the creek. The fading light made the water appear golden and she found the beauty appalling. Offensive, even, when everything inside her felt ugly and miserable. The words catching in her throat, she stared out over the waves and said softly, "I miss you, too."

"Jo," he began, and she knew the tone well enough to close her eyes. "I'm - I'm sorry."

She sniffled and wished she hadn't, because she sounded like a little girl. "But not sorry enough to change your mind."

"No."

Joey bit her lower lip and tried really, really hard to keep from crying. "Then why are you here, Pacey?"

He was quiet for so long that she wondered if he was going to answer at all. The minutes seem to stretch on interminably before he said, "I don't know, really. I just had to see you."

"Well, now you've seen me, Pacey," she said, tonelessly. 

Quietly, a bit uncertainly, he asked, "Do you want me to leave?"   
"I don't ever want you to leave, Pacey, I never did," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a hand that visibly shook. Though she looked out over the water, it was hard to focus on anything for the tears that welled. "But thanks for asking this time."

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder as soon as he reached for her, rejecting his touch before she could draw whatever comfort she could from it. She didn't want to be soothed, she didn't want to be calmed or reasoned with. What she wanted was to wake up and realize that this wasn't anything but a dream, a nightmare she'd forget by dawn. If only.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Jo," he said after a moment. 

And somewhere inside her, she knew that. She knew that the last thing he'd ever intended was to cause her any pain. But somehow, knowing that didn't make her feel any better. It didn't make her heart whole again. It didn't ease the pain. 

"I know you think you're doing the right thing here, Pacey. I know you think you're being noble and that this is for the best."

"Joey -"

"I know you're completely wrong, though," she continued listlessly, cutting him off. "And I know that there's nothing I could say or do to make you change your mind. Is there?"

She met his eyes long enough to find the answer she knew would be there. "Didn't think so," she mumbled dully.

"I wish I knew what to say here, Jo."

Which was mind boggling, really. Pacey Witter, who could bullshit his way through anything . . . at a loss for words. "Well, I don't have that particular problem," she told him. "I know exactly what I want to say to you."

The words were perhaps a little colder than she'd intended, and she could sense him recoiling from the harshness of her tone. 

"So why don't you tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me," he repeated when she looked at him. "Yell at me. Scream every obscenity you know, hell, make some up. Get it all off your chest, Jo. I'll listen."

Why did he have to be the perfect ex-boyfriend? His earnestness made her itch to slap him, or perhaps even kiss him. It irritated her that he couldn't just break up with her and be an ass, no, he had to make sure she was going to be okay. When she could trust herself to speak without breaking down, she asked, "What would be the point?"

"It might make you feel better."

Joey couldn't help but laugh, the sound utterly devoid of anything resembling genuine mirth. "Nothing will make me feel better right now, Pacey. I'm not like you, okay?"

Confusion written all over his face, he couldn't seem to stop himself from asking. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm just saying, Pacey," she shrugged with careful indifference, though another sniffle gave her away. "You seem to be doing awfully well for someone who used to call at midnight to tell me that you couldn't wait for school, you had to hear my voice right then."

"You have got to be kidding me," he said. Incredulous, he continued with the first faint traces of anger in his voice. "Do you seriously believe that I'm alright, that I don't feel like crap and miss you every moment of every damn day?"

Her voice lacked a certain confidence when she said, "I find that hard to believe. You don't look any worse for the wear, Pacey." 

"Would it make you feel better, Jo, would it give you peace of mind if I looked like shit? If there were bags under my eyes from lying awake at night, wishing things were different? What if I looked like I hadn't eaten a full meal since a few days before I broke up with you? Would that make it all a little less painful for you to bear?"

She looked him straight in the eye and answered honestly. "Yes. It would."

"Then sleep easy, Jo," he bit out, his voice growing louder and angrier with each word. "Because I hurt like hell and I can just barely stand it!"

Silence reigned and they stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever, until the anger slipped away as quickly as it had flared inside him. He broke the gaze first, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."

He sounded so lost and uncertain that for the briefest moment, she was nearly overwhelmed by the need to comfort him. Why couldn't she just hate him and move on? It wasn't fair. Nothing on earth should be this hard, this confusing. 

Maybe he was right, maybe it would make her feel better if she talked about it. Toying with the strap of her sandal, she wondered where to begin. Watching him in the fading light, she was struck by inspiration and went with it before she changed her mind. Lowering her legs into an Indian position, she reached over and took one of his hands in her own, bringing it closer. 

Smoothing her thumb across his palm, she held his hand in both of hers and struggled to hold back the tears. How warm he felt, how strong and gentle. Oh, God. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she traced the groove that marked his loveline. "I think it's going to be your touch I miss the most. Which is funny, really, when you think about it. Isn't it?"

It wasn't the sort of question that required a response. She heard the hitch in his breath, though. Did her words hurt him? She wondered if they were hard for him to hear. Part of her hoped so, the part of her soul that wanted to lash out at him like a wounded animal, wreaking as much havoc on his emotions as she could. Her heart, however, never wanted to cause him pain.

"I love your hands," she began softly, her voice threaded with a trembling note. "Did you know that?"

"Jo . . ."

"It's true," she continued, as though he'd argued with her instead of just barely breathing her name. "The way you'd hold my hands in both of yours whenever I had something to tell you that I just couldn't keep to myself one second longer. Important news or just that I'd missed you, it didn't matter. You'd hold my hands and . . . and you'd really listen."

For a moment she couldn't speak for lump rising in her throat, and he threaded his fingers with hers and held her hand in his, remaining quiet. Listening.

"Speaking about us in the past tense. It's just . . . bizarre," she said with a strangled little laugh. "How can this be real?"

The tears that spilled over were scalding as they slid down her cheeks. When she tugged her hand free from his so that she could cover her face, he put his arm around shoulders that shook and held her. After a brief moment of resistence, she leaned against his strength and cried. 

"You're going to have a great life," he said, his words soft yet steady. "You deserve the best there is, and I can't give you that. I'd only hold you back."

"But you're wrong," she managed through her tears, realizing the futility of her words even as she said them. 

Holding her close, he kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I'm always going to love you, Jo." It only made her cry harder, soaking the shoulder of his shirt with tears.

The first stars of the evening were already shining brightly in the sky as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. Somewhere down the creek, a motorboat's engine turned over after quite a few tries and settled into a steady purr. Neighborhood children enjoyed the last remaining moments of daylight, playing for as long as they could before their mothers called them inside for the evening. A dog barked incessantly in the distance, more than likely waiting to be fed. All around them, life went on as they continued to sit there wrapped up in each other.

Ending in the same place they'd begun. 

  



End file.
